


that strange first night

by krebkrebkreb



Series: ache [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Explicit Consent, M/M, Mating Bites, Mildly Dubious Consent, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Wedding Night, please read the notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-05-24 07:37:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14950394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krebkrebkreb/pseuds/krebkrebkreb
Summary: Jesse McCree crouches down in front of Hanzo on their wedding night, crowding into his personal space. He speaks quietly, so no one outside the room will hear:  “Help me out here. I don’t know what to do.”(or, That Missing Scene from chapter one of Ache)





	that strange first night

**Author's Note:**

> i’m so sorry i wrote this. literally no one asked for it but here we are anyway.  
> as always with this particular a/b/o au, we’ve got all-human, all-male bodies with some extra hormonal bullshit yanking them around… and a tooooouch of something that might be inexplicable and ancient. i’m not sure how much sense this will make without having read the first chapter of Ache but whatevs man♡♡
> 
> there are some weird issues of consent here. all of it is freely and enthusiastically given in the moment but between the situation, the narrative style i chose to use in writing this piece, and the weirdness of a/b/o in general i feel like the warning for what might be interpreted as dubcon is appropriate
> 
> if any of this makes you uncomfortable and you don’t want to continue reading, be assured that _nothing_ in this or any other side story will ever be “required reading” to understand the main story. 
> 
> as a final note, i’d like to say that this isn’t necessarily _intentionally_ sexy. it’s an exploration of a scene that needed to be explored before i could continue with the main story, one that just happens to be of a sexual nature. if it’s hot that’s a happy accident but please don’t hold your breath for more than feelings porn

“I’m seeking a way to do this with respect,” his strange new husband says. Artificial candle light reflects off the man’s dark, dark eyes.

Hanzo snorts quietly, the closest he can summon to a laugh right now— at this, this situation, _them_. Perfect strangers who now must… “So you can learn from your elders,” he says, harkening back to earlier words. The only private joke they could possibly have after so little acquaintance.

He can’t avoid looking at his husband’s mouth, the way the teeth exposed by a sudden grin are shining with flickering light the way his eyes still are. Those teeth will soon be… His gaze flicks down to the man’s neck. Hanzo’s own teeth will be _there_ too. Which side, he wonders. What will it _feel like_ …

This with an alpha— it is supposed to be— _might_ be different. His previous lovers he had only pursued because he _knew_ they were beta. Normal. Not someone with whom he could accidentally begin a true bond. The kind that starts without a bite, the kind that let people know they were alphas and omegas before blood tests came along to speed up the process. Just compatible bodies and compatible hormones… No matter how rare and unnecessary that sort of perfect match might be these days, he has never been one to take unnecessary risk.

The bite itself he knows will hurt, could lead to infection, but tonight that risk is necessary. A doctor will see them both tomorrow and there is a camera, a dedicated eye from outside watching. Ostensibly for their protection should something go awry, but hanzo is no fool. He knows it is also to make sure they go through with this. Everyone is aware that he never expected to be married.

He watches his husband’s fading grin. He watches those lips, thinking about the same people who doubt him watching what they’re about to do together. Will it be tomorrow? Or are they watching now, live, in another room while Hanzo is here—

Jesse McCree sinks fully to his knees, drawing all of Hanzo’s attention. He knows his eyes must be impossibly wide as gentle fingers touch the edge of his hairline. They wander from his widow’s peak to his jaw and this man, this stranger brings his own face close to whisper in Hanzo’s ear.

“Don’t be shy about telling me what you want.” His voice is quiet, rough. It carries the sound and promise and uncertainty of a foreign land. Sagebrush and tumbleweeds and buzzard cries, things Hanzo has only read about.

“I am not a shy man,” Hanzo bites back, barely above a whisper.

He’s aware, despite his words, of the flush already rising in his cheeks behind all the makeup. Of the tremor in his hands as they remain clasped in his lap.

“If you ain’t shy then help me outta this getup. It took an omnic with four hands to get me into it.”

“None of our omnics have four hands.” But he feels— he understands— he _appreciates_ the moment having been broken. The intensity with which he could feel the blood thrumming in his veins… “I will help.”

So they both stand and Hanzo takes several small steps so he can be behind this other man and he… he begins to undress him.

The cotton kimono McCree is wearing is simple, an understated grey almost hiding the crisp white collar of the _juban_ . It takes Hanzo seconds to undo the knot in the _obi_ and barely longer to fold it. He slips the dark outer layer off the stranger’s shoulders and moves to hang it— There is nowhere to hang it.

He just drops it at their feet.

Whatever layers of padding had been used underneath his wedding kimono to give him the right silhouette beneath all the layers have obviously already been done away with. Now Hanzo can see him. _See him,_ tall and wiry, less muscular than Hanzo had imagined, a few dark chest hairs poking through the _juban_ ’s stiff white fabric. Fabric so thin it’s almost see-through.

His fingers are steady as he works the knotted tie holding this last piece of modesty closed. Suddenly it is undone and he is slipping it off his husband’s shoulders and—

And suddenly he has to work to stop from laughing at the outright absurdity of all of this.

“Those are not traditional undergarments,” Hanzo says in as steady a voice as he can.

McCree looks down at himself, turning from side to side to examine his remaining attire. “I don’t see anything nontraditional about this.”

Beneath the long torso and all the flickering shadows outlining a forest of chest hair and the ridges and valleys of muscle are a pair of boxer shorts, resplendent with little cartoon cactuses and rope spelling out _‘howdy’_ in looping script.

“Those are _not_ traditional.” Hanzo presses his lips into a thin line but he can feel the smile in his cheeks.

He watches as the man’s top lip creeps up until what starts as a smirk turns into a full-blown grin.

“They served their purpose, didn’t they? Broke the ice.” He lifts an eyebrow up, watching Hanzo watch him. “Come on, your turn. I showed you mine.”

Hanzo doesn’t turn around or look away. His fingers, masculine and knobby and sure in their task, undo the silk belt of his robe and he lets it drop off his shoulders without shame.

 _“Well now,”_ his husband says, other eyebrow rising to meet the first. “You ain’t wearing undergarments at all.

 _It is a better look than slippers and shorts,_ he wants to say. It feels natural to try and share jokes with this man— “Tradition,” he says instead.

“Tradition,” the man repeats, still grinning. Hanzo watches his eyes move carefully from his face to his chest to his arm. “That’s one helluva tattoo—“

“It is sacred.”

“Another tradition?” The grin doesn’t leave. What will those teeth _feel_ like… “Suits you. Let’s…?” He trails off, gesturing vaguely towards the futon and Hanzo gets the idea.

The man— This man— His _husband_ steps backwards out of his slippers, pulls his ridiculous boxers off and Hanzo does not look where he wants but he looks instead at the futon and he...

He sits. He doesn’t hide himself or pose to be sultry while the man removes his socks. There’s no shame in the way he’s seated: resting back on his tattooed arm with elbow locked, legs in front of him and slightly spread. No shame and nothing overtly feminine or omega or _wifely,_ despite his makeup and his hairstyle and his DNA. It is a plea: _accept this so we may continue_.

(Jesse drops slowly to his knees. He _accepts_.)

“Ain’t you the prettiest sight,” McCree says from his place on the floor, reaching out slowly to touch Hanzo’s ankle. “All them _muscles._ What’re the chances of getting you on top a me?”

He twitches at the featherlight touch. At the procession of images conjured into his mind by those words. That long lithe back, the alpha spread out beneath him and gazing up, those _legs_ around his hips _—_ “That would be a reversal of roles inappropriate tonight,” Hanzo reminds him, quiet and stern.

The thrumming in his veins is back. A low vibration, like every heartbeat is pushing out _something_ that makes him hum just a little bit more.

“Alright then,” his husband says. There’s a span of a second where it looks like he might say _more_ but instead—

Instead he moves forward on his knees, brings himself in line with Hanzo’s left thigh instead of remaining beyond his feet, and he says: “I’d like to kiss you.”

Hanzo scoffs. “So then kiss me.”

And he does.

And it starts off as almost any first kiss Hanzo has shared before. The brief brush of lips on lips. The dry feel of almost-gone lipstick, the soft and scratchy touch of a well-kept beard. The same as any, but Hanzo is so much more _aware._

What cannot be more than a second of gentle touch spirals into the heady eternity of his _awareness_ of this body beside him. Hanzo can feel the air rush away from his face on the man’s next inhale. Each fingertip that comes to touch his cheek is placed with a softness he feels individually in each nerve.

The slide of their lips together as they meet again is pleasant and warm. Unhurried in its near chasteness. This is as much about feeling each other out as it is about trying to progress to something more. His bottom lip fits perfectly between both of this man’s and the soft kiss left on it is divine.

Their thighs bump together as McCree wets his lips and Hanzo is aware of how the slide it gives to their next kiss makes it that much sweeter. As the fingers on his cheek slide to cup his jaw, Hanzo’s world tilts to match and he moves his head to chase the retreating lips before him.

 _This became very intense very quickly,_ he realizes. _Does that mean—_ he wonders, and then: _No._

A true match is identified by more than a heady rush and intense attraction. Hanzo is just nervous, excited, both.

But as their mouths open and he breathes in this other man’s breath, the sweetest and most intoxicating thing he’s ever tasted: _Maybe._

Their eyes are still open. Have never closed. They study each other for a few very still seconds, husband watching wife, omega watching alpha. Assassin and yakuza and probably murderer and spy fit in there between them too but Hanzo pushes the words out of his mind, taking the initiative of another kiss before he can begin worrying.

This time their tongues meet, _immediate_ and wet and hot and he wants more before it’s even done. The taste of the man’s breath has nothing on the taste of _him_. Barely a brush and he is loath to ever let this man go. The kiss lingers and deepens, growing more heated while they both relax into the natural rhythm of what their bodies are doing.

Other than their mouths and the hand on Hanzo’s face they aren’t touching and that’s not nearly enough. McCree must feel it too, or else he’s just being particularly overeager as he responds to Hanzo’s hand in his hair because—

—because suddenly. Suddenly they are touching _everywhere._

Hanzo has never known a feeling quite like this as a strong chest brushes up against his and lips work down his jaw.

The man groans quietly against his neck. Against where his teeth will be… “You smell so good,” he says, and Hanzo is pleased by the praise in a very primal and arousing way. “I know you’ve bathed, right? Lemme get my mouth back there, get you ready.”

It is tempting. The offer is _incredibly tempting_ and Hanzo finds himself echoing the groan as he explores his new husband’s broad back with his hands.

Fuck it’s so tempting but Hanzo— Hanzo’s mind goes to the lack of privacy and he can’t… He can’t just be _vulnerable_ like that when _anyone_ might be watching. The vague notions of _bite_ and _bacteria_ and _infection_ only factor slightly into his response.

“I am already ready. I prepared myself before you arrived.”

“Tradition?” There’s a smile in his voice and against his neck. The soft edge of a laugh.

Hanzo smiles too. “Courtesy. Perhaps I wished…” And he trails off.

He wished to not be treated roughly, in case the stranger with him had turned out to not be so kind. He wished to not offer any sort of inconvenience. He wished—

“Perhaps I wish to be involved. Use my fingers a bit, if I can’t use my mouth. Make you feel good while I make certain I won’t hurt you none.”

_Oh… Yes._

Several indulgent, wet kisses find their way up his neck until a voice speaks in his ear. “Yeah? You like that?”

Apparently very much. He hasn’t even been aware he was speaking aloud.

Instead of answering, he angles for another kiss. Lets his actions speak for him as he presses his chest closer to the heady warmth radiating from this man.

“Hey. Can I take yer hair down?”

“Yes.” It’s the kind of hiding hanzo will accept right now, and as soon as he has gentle fingertips stroking his hair he feels calmer. _Reflexes,_ he supposes, and then the comb is pulled away and the three pins are taken out and the curtain of darkness falls on either side of his head. He feels not only _calm_ but also _free_.

The man exhales. “Gorgeous. Fuck, look at you. Goddamn prince. You _belong_ in a castle.”

“Convenient, then,” Hanzo finds it in himself to say, “considering where we are.”

He feels a strange stab of emotion in his chest, _guilt_ and _worry_ and _longing_ punching right below his sternum. It’s so far removed from the comfort and arousal he is experiencing right now that it almost comes from somewhere outside himself. He ducks his head, hiding behind the way his hair flows down across his brow.

“Can I kiss ya again?” the man asks.

He exhales through his nose, somewhat irritated. “Only if you stop asking every time.” If the kiss that follows is a little softer, takes a little more time to warm up, he tries not to think of it.

Hands are moving across his body, stroking down his side and up his thigh with intent. He smiles as their lips part. “Beside the pillow you will find a bottle of lubrication,” he murmurs, “if you desire it.”

“ _Fuck yes I do_.” The response is so immediate, so fervent and enthusiastic that Hanzo’s smile crosses over into a grin and he chuckles.

“Take it, then. I will get comfortable.”

“Face me still? So we can keep kissin’?”

The request strikes him as odd, maybe too intimate, and even though he knows it will take away his ability to hide he finds himself nodding. “For now.”

“Tradition?”

This time the joke is less funny and more _thrilling_ . He watches his husband’s mouth move and thinks again about _teeth_ and _blood_. “Something like that.”

“It’s okay if it’s preference too,” his husband says, picking up the bottle of silicone lube and thumbing the cap open. Hanzo feels a bit of pride at the quality of the product, a bit of luxury for them to share. “I’m flexible.”

“So am I.” He spreads himself out on his back and lifts one leg at an angle, planting the sole of his foot flat against the futon. He’s half hard between his legs and he knows the view must be enticing. Hanzo expects a salacious remark, perhaps to be leered at or touched. He doesn’t expect to be looked at with something like awe and respect and raw need, or to feel the same sentiment echoed in his own chest.

“You’re fuckin’ gorgeous, sweetheart.”

A flush rises from his chest to his cheeks and he wills it away unsuccessfully. “Come touch me.”

“You can count on it.”

Their mouths meet again as he feels a hand below his belly button. The muscles in his stomach twitch as the fingers drag lower, lower, _lower_ to wrap around where he is hard and wanting that touch.

The man whines against his lips. “My favorite _gun_ doesn’t even feel this good in my hand, babe…”

Hanzo seeks another quick kiss, charmed. “Do you speak like that with everyone?”

“Just my husband.” There’s a promise in that word, in the way the hand around his cock shifts and the grip tightens. “I wanna—” he says.

Hanzo is already nodding. He wants, too.

McCree shifts his weight on his knees, takes his hands away so he can uncap the little clear plastic bottle and wet his fingertips. He braces himself on his dry hand and leans over Hanzo, kissing him again.

The slightest intrusion— to the first knuckle, maybe, _barely_ , slicked wet with lube and wider than he expected— and Hanzo feels so vulnerable. What a fool he was, denying himself the pleasures of his husband’s mouth when this is already… already so much. He squeezes his eyes shut tighter and makes a soft noise, shifting into the touch. His husband groans in return.

“Babe, you’re gonna kill me if you get excited like that…”

Hanzo huffs a soft chuckle. He feels himself tighten around the man’s finger, takes in the sound of his breathy exhalation with a smile. “A weak heart?”

“When I see something this beautiful?”

“You need not continue to flatter me.” His voice catches on the hard consonants as he feels himself open further to the touch. Deeper, the gentle drag of skin on skin.

“Who’s flattering?” The fondness in his tone is warming. Comfortable. Has he known this man for hours or years?

Hanzo doesn’t ask permission before stroking his left hand up his husband’s thigh, taking in the tense muscle and soft hair. It grows just a bit more wiry, just a bit coarser as he gets close to the apex of his thighs.

 _“Fuck,”_ McCree groans out as Hanzo finally gets a hand around him.

“I will stroke,” Hanzo says, “if you give me another finger.”

His husband laughs, an aching little sound, like the edges of his cool are finally coming unglued. “Hell yeah.”

The fingers inside him move in time with his own hand. This preparation is still unnecessary and as they kiss, as they touch, as seconds turn into minutes and arousal and need begin to claw further into his consciousness, Hanzo has had enough. The idea that they are strangers slips completely from his mind each time fingertips brush over his prostate.

“Let me turn over,” he whispers against the man’s bearded jaw. “We cannot stay forever like this.”

“I wouldn’t mind it, sweetheart,” he hears in return, “I really wouldn’t mind.”

But Hanzo would. Despite the unhurried flow of their bodies he knows this isn’t what they’re supposed to be doing. His chest tightens in anticipation as he feels the withdrawal of fingers and hears the snap of the bottle’s lid opening.

“You’re sure—” his husband begins to ask.

“Shut up,” Hanzo says impatiently as he rolls onto his knees.

McCree’s cock is larger than his fingers had been, and as it pushes against him Hanzo realizes how empty he has always been.

“Now,” he insists, _“now.”_

The intensity of the moment is dizzying— with every heartbeat the world is trying to right itself but he’s lost all grip on what the proper orientation should be. His palms are slick against the silk beneath them. His muscles struggle to keep him upright.

It’s so much but it’s _not enough_ and the amount he can bear it is dwindling rapidly.

His awareness shrinks as he rocks his hips back into McCree’s thrusts, trying to search for the thing he’s missing. Warm, rough hands stroke over his ribs, his hips, his thighs, not staying still until they wrap around his torso in an embrace.

Hanzo whines, throwing his head back, impulsively reaching an arm, _both arms_ behind him to let himself be held up by those strong arms around his chest. He knows he’s safe as firmly as he knows there is more they must be doing. His hands both find his husband’s hair and he angles his head to offer himself to the mouth he’s holding against his neck.

“Alpha, _bite._ Draw blood.”

He feels the sharp burst of pain on his scalp first as hair caught between them is torn away by friction, but then—

It’s the sensation of diving into a pool of water and finding out he can still breathe beneath the surface only because he was _forced_ to take an unwilling breath. Expecting to drown and instead finding his lungs filled with fresh, clean oxygen. He’s breathing for the first time in his _life_.

He knows he comes shortly after the teeth sink into his neck, he knows his husband does too, but the sensation is _less_ somehow than everything else he is feeling. A background image to the intensity of the rest of his universe.

Parting is less drawn out than their bodies coming together had been, or maybe he is just less cognizant of the passage of time. McCree pulls out, rolls onto his side, and tugs Hanzo into his arms.

Until the bite both of their faces had been— not presentable, with their overbright eyes and flushed cheeks, but _clean_. Now that hot, hot smear of blood across his lips and chin and Hanzo is still breathing water, breathing firelight.

His neck hurts. He should get up, clean himself up, bandage his neck, ask this other man the reason for… something? He can’t focus on what. He doesn’t want to.

Instead, awash with wholeness and rightness and belonging, he kisses those bloody lips and falls asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> mccree’s emotional state the entire time was “???” but like, with a boner.  
> super thanks to squelchsquelch (who i am _finally_ allowed to thank by name!) and youraveragejoke for cheerleading me through this mess. their encouragement gets me through everything i write in the ache universe, but especially this dumb thing. i wasn’t even gonna post it for a while.
> 
> _i’m still peddling my bullshit ontumblr_


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